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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27408271">Yup</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Like Oatmeal [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Fluff and Smut, Episode Related, Established Relationship, M/M, Old Married Couple, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:01:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,796</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27408271</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"See what happened is, your dads had sex."</p>
<p>some make-up sex companion pieces to Simple Addition. Can be read as standalone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kevin Cozner/Ray Holt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Like Oatmeal [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2002432</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Paris</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dr. Kevin Cozner was a volcano of emotion, ready to erupt at the tiniest provocation. He did not know what to do with his hand, which was still clutching his phone, its hard edges digging into his palm. Through a mist of helpless rage mixed with dread, he reread the text message he had just received:</p><p>
  <em> Dear Kevin, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> due to further unforeseen incidents I have no choice but to postpone my flight to Paris indefinitely. I will call you as soon as I have taken care of these pressing matters here. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Love, your husband, Raymond Holt. </em>
</p><p>Then he read it a third time, gritting his teeth. </p><p>After the fourth reread he actively had to fight the urge to throw his phone against the wall. </p><p>Finally, with a sigh of frustration and despair, Kevin closed the application and, allowing himself a modicum of drama, let himself fall onto his bed. Lying there, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, he contemplated calling his husband to confront him with the questions eating at him.</p><p>However, Kevin realized, as his tired hand pocketed his phone, if he called, there might be answers, and he did not know if he could handle them.</p><p>***</p><p>Originally, Raymond had been scheduled to arrive Friday evening. Now he wasn’t coming, and so Kevin found himself alone in the apartment he rented with only his sadness, anger and despair for company. </p><p>Truly he did not know how or when things had taken precisely this turn. Had their relationship soured the very moment he had first brought up the topic of a semester in Paris? Perhaps. He still remembered the expression on Raymond’s face, subtle surprise shifting into consternation. “A semester in Paris,” Raymond had echoed. Then, “A semester?” His frown deepening in tandem with the tone of his voice, “In Paris?”</p><p>Kevin’s suggestion had been ripped apart and transformed into two questions, each one loaded. Too long, too far away. Those had been Raymond’s main arguments during his hastily put together closing statement at the end of their debate on the issue. Actually, they had been his only arguments. </p><p>“Why leave for six months? Wouldn’t four weeks suffice?”</p><p>“A semester is six months, Raymond, you know that. If I want a teaching position I have to stay for the semester.”</p><p>“You have a teaching position here; you are head of your department. Why travel thousands of miles to do what you are already doing here? It makes no sense to me.”</p><p>“It is not the same thing at all. As much as I love Columbia, I could use a change of scenery. And the Sorbonne--”</p><p>“If it’s a change of scenery you want, why not go teach at Harvard for a semester?”</p><p>“Well, they have not offered--”</p><p>“I’m sure they would.”</p><p>“Raymond, that is not the point--”</p><p>“Or any other school here in the United States, such as Yale, Princeton, Cornell, Wellesley--”</p><p>“Raymond, please stop listing universities. I have been offered a teaching position at the Sorbonne for a semester and that is what we are discussing, not some hypothetical semester at a college here in the States.”</p><p>***</p><p>Raymond had never actually said the words<em> I don’t want you to go</em>. He had not said, <em>please stay</em>. </p><p>Quite frankly, Kevin did not know if it would have made a difference. He had wanted to go. He had felt he needed this time to focus on himself and his career. </p><p>To Raymond, he had presented several more or less scientific articles on the positive effects of periods of separation on long term relationships, which he had concluded with the well-known quote from Sextus Propoertius’ Elegies: semper in absentis felicior aestus amantis. Kevin had felt good about the points he had made. He had not once brought up the NYPD, nor the sacrifices he had made for Raymond’s career. </p><p>It would have been unfair, he thought, to tell Raymond about the opportunities he had missed early on in his own career by staying in New York. Because Kevin had made these choices gladly, he had been in love with Raymond and he had known he would not have been able to take any pleasure in his work if it meant being separated from Raymond.</p><p>Kevin had also not mentioned the times Raymond had been away on undercover missions, long periods Kevin had spent worried and miserable, waiting for his partner’s uncertain return. Those assignments had not been Raymond’s choice and there had been no way for him to refuse, therefore Kevin could not blame him. </p><p>Ergo, Kevin had been reasonable during their debate. He had won ‘fair and square’, as they said, and Raymond had no right to be as bitter and hurt as he now seemed.</p><p>***</p><p>For the first couple of weeks, they had been fine. Raymond had won the squash tournament with Detective Boyle, they’d talked every night, they’d planned Raymond’s visit, which, secretly, Kevin had thought of as something like a second honeymoon. </p><p>Then, seven weeks into his Paris semester, Raymond had told him that the fourteen day visit they had envisioned was no longer possible. He had contracted the mumps and had been forced to quarantine for nine days, which had completely thrown off his work schedule. </p><p>“A week,” he had said, “I will most definitely be able to come for a week.”</p><p>It had been a shock to Kevin, but he had recovered because he was happy in Paris, so happy, in fact, that he felt almost guilty about it.</p><p>After that, the fighting had started.</p><p>***</p><p>Kevin could not have said exactly what had triggered their first spat. Perhaps it had been some offhand remark about the house needing repairs or about some nosy neighbor commenting on Kevin’s long absence. Whatever it had been, it had made the vague feeling of guilt solidify; suddenly Kevin had felt its pressure on his chest, accompanied by the certainty that Raymond had placed it there on purpose.</p><p>He had been irritated, and had pointed out that he would return, he was not gone forever and that he would take care of things when he did, the way he had always done before he had gone to France. </p><p>He had not explicitly claimed that he was the one who did the majority of the housework - they did have a housekeeper who came in twice a week - though between him and Raymond he most certainly was, and Raymond could not have denied this.</p><p>He had also withstood the temptation to tell his husband that he could just imagine him sitting in his own filth and sulking like a toddler, listening to Wagner perhaps while composing a list of Kevin’s faults and offenses in iambic pentameter.</p><p>What Kevin had said, with some starch in his voice, was, “Remind me then to clean the gutters when I get back.”</p><p>“I will do no such thing. I will hire someone to do that tomorrow.”</p><p>“Why? That’s unnecessary. I can do it myself; I have done it before.” Besides, Raymond would not hire anyone. He would go to work, get wrapped up in whatever the shenanigans of the week were, and forget all about the gutters, and even if he didn’t, the last time he had tried to phone a company, they had hung up on him because they had mistaken him for a robocall.</p><p>“You will fall off the roof and break your neck,” Raymond had said.</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous.”</p><p>“You’re the one being ridiculous. There are three-hundred deaths from ladder falls per year in the U.S. alone.”</p><p>“And each year, there are 12,000 stairway accident deaths. Should I therefore not use our stairs anymore?” Kevin had posed the question sardonically, but it had prompted a moment of contemplative silence on the other end. “Raymond,” he had said quickly to disperse whatever absurd thoughts were festering in his husband’s mind, “it would be a waste of money to hire someone to do such a small task when I am perfectly capable of doing it myself.”</p><p>“We have enough money. You are being too stingy, even for a W.A.S.P.”</p><p>Kevin had set his jaw. “Stop, this is a serious discussion. You’re being inappropriate and I won’t have it.”</p><p>“And yet I’m not the one whose mind seems to be constantly in the gutter.”</p><p>“How dare you,” Kevin had snapped, outraged at the admittedly hilarious pun, and then he had ended the call immediately, without any kind of goodbye. </p><p>***</p><p>Recalling these events now, Kevin found that anger and frustration could not withstand the budding fear and sadness sprouting from their midst. Was his marriage crumbling? And what if it was?</p><p>Raymond was not coming.</p><p>Swallowing the lump of despair rising in his throat, Kevin pulled the phone from his pocket to glance at the screen. Raymond was smiling up at him, happy and carefree with Cheddar in his arms. It was such a rare snapshot of Raymond’s million-watt smile, one he had had to swear he would never show Jake because Raymond thought he looked undignified. Kevin loved that picture. He loved Raymond. Despite the disappointment, despite the anxiety, despite the anger, the fact remained that he loved his husband. </p><p>There were no new messages.</p><p>With another sigh, Kevin rose from the bed. He tried to smooth his hopelessly creased tan dress slacks and green flannel shirt but gave up after a few seconds. Why bother? No one would see him.</p><p>He went into the kitchen, where he retrieved the bottle of Château Mouton he had procured to celebrate Raymond’s arrival. After opening the wine to let it breathe, he dragged himself over to his desk and sat down in front of his laptop. Then, he started cancelling each and every one of the reservations he had made for the week he had been planning to spend with his husband. As he did this, he thought, <em>screw this</em>, and went back to the kitchen. He grabbed the open bottle, eyed the cabinets for a guilty second, then thought, <em>screw this</em> once more and took a long drink straight from the open bottle. </p><p>There was very little satisfaction in this, in drinking dramatically without anyone there to observe his despair. He wanted Raymond to witness this almost as much as he never wanted him to witness this. That, after all these years, Raymond Holt still had this much power over his emotions was truly vexing…</p><p>After two, if he was honest with himself, performative drafts from the bottle, Kevin had had his fill. He was not the kind of man who would drink himself into a stupor alone in a tiny two-room apartment in Paris. He paced the length of the wall and thought about how the comparatively cheap rent had been one of the selling points of his semester in France. He was making a lot more money than he was spending.  </p><p>Not that he hadn’t been making an almost obscene amount of money anyway. Raymond had had one thing right, he really was a stingy W.A.S.P.</p><p>“Bzzz,” he said to the empty apartment, then, scandalized at himself, wondered if he was already intoxicated or merely losing his mind. </p><p>He missed Cheddar. Were he at home now and this upset, Cheddar would comfort him. Here, he was alone. No fluffy boy pawing at his leg to get his attention. There was only the landlord’s dog, whom Kevin had been trying to befriend, an elderly dachshund named Chirac, who would accept Kevin’s treats one day, then growl and snap at his fingers the next. <em>Duplicitous bitch,</em> Raymond would have said, were he here.</p><p>But he wasn’t.</p><p>And, lest Kevin forget, he would not be coming either.</p><p>***</p><p>Kevin had a dismal night. He slept fitfully, woke up groggy and borderline hungover despite how little he had actually drunk. Saturday morning he had no messages from Raymond and when he tried to call, it went straight to voicemail. He was almost relieved when it did, as he did not know what he would say to his husband.</p><p>He thought idly about going out to buy a pack of cigarettes, Gauloises, unfiltered, the kind that would bring Raymond close to apoplexy if he caught Kevin smoking them. Even the pipe at home was off limits now, since were Kevin brave enough to light up, his husband would inevitably appear as though conjured from another realm to gaze at him in judgment and recite cancer rates in his grave voice. </p><p>It was more than simple defiance that made him want to smoke, however, it was a need to do <em>something</em>, to combat this ache in his heart. He wanted to suck in tobacco smoke as though it was incense, as though it could exorcise whatever evil spirits had possessed him when during one of their recent conversations he had accused Raymond of harboring a secret aversion to bow ties.</p><p>Kevin stalked across his small study in his creased dress slacks and flannel shirt - he had slept in his underwear and slipped into the outfit he had worn the night before because nothing seemed to matter anymore - to pick up the cellphone he had tossed onto the armchair in the corner after he had been unable to reach Raymond.</p><p>He tried again now, still unsure what he would say. <em>I love you</em>, yes, that undeniable truth would certainly make its way past his lips this time. He would not hold it back; he would swallow his pride and let it go. And then what? <em>If you want me to, I’ll drop everything and come home.</em> No, he couldn’t. He could not go that far. Raymond would not ask that of him. But perhaps he had to say it, perhaps Raymond needed to hear it. What if Raymond called his bluff, though?</p><p>Kevin needn’t have worried, however, as the message played again: <em>the number you have called is currently unavailable</em>.</p><p>With a sigh, he tossed the phone back into the armchair where it bounced off the cushions and clattered to the floor. “Merde,” he said and went to pick it up and inspect it for damage. He marvelled at himself. Here he was, throwing his phone around when at home, he could not bear to toss even a banana peel into a trashcan. But the device had offended him, it was supposed to be his connection to his husband, his Stentor, and yet it had proven useless. </p><p>He was crouching down when he heard them, footsteps on the stairs, heavy and familiar. It could not be, but from the way Kevin's heart leapt into his throat, faster than his body could leap to the door, he knew it had to be.</p><p>It was Raymond.</p><p>Kevin had the door open before his husband could knock. Raymond was standing there, a look on his face Kevin knew only too well. Determination and apprehension. He was bracing himself for whatever was to come, looking too large, all together too real in the bright midday sun shining through the window behind him. </p><p>Kevin was grateful that his knees did not buckle from the rush of surprise and exasperation he felt. He had to be gaping like a fish.</p><p>“Hello, Kevin,” Raymond said. One of his hands was loosely curled around the handle of his wheeled suitcase, the other reached out now to shake Kevin’s. Kevin ignored it. He grabbed his husband by his lapel and pulled him across the threshold, suitcase and everything. Mid-pull he spun them around and kicked the door shut. He pushed Raymond against the wall of his narrow hallway, dislodging a framed Monet print and sending it crashing to the floor.</p><p>Kevin did not care. Raymond was staring at him, wide-eyed with shock, his lips parting to say something Kevin would never hear because he preferred to press himself flush against his husband and cut him off with a kiss. </p><p>***</p><p>Raymond’s lips were sinfully soft if a little dry from the flight. Kevin rejoiced in their subtle movement against his, in the way they readily opened for him. He had missed this so much, he thought, as he slipped his hands under Raymond’s coat. It was too heavy for the weather - it must have been freezing in New York - and Raymond was hot under it, his skin warming Kevin’s palms even through the fabric of his shirt. </p><p>Raymond was pushing back against him now, not exactly fighting Kevin as he tried to maneuver them towards the bedroom, but attempting to get some control of the situation.</p><p>Kevin was not having this. He was still angry; he was still afraid. His heart was pounding violently. He felt like a small bird trapped inside a fist. He did not yet know whether he was to be saved or crushed. The only thing he knew was that Raymond was kissing him back just as desperately, that the space between them seemed too small even for their harsh breaths, and yet was still too wide a chasm. He needed to be closer. </p><p>He almost tripped over Raymond’s feet as he pushed them along the wall, past the bathroom door - Raymond winced a little when he bumped into the door handle - vaguely into the direction of the bedroom.</p><p>They managed to shed Raymond’s coat along the way, though for some reason, Raymond was still dragging his suitcase, which was now tangled in the coat. </p><p>“Kevin,” Raymond gasped as soon as Kevin was forced to stop for a much needed breath. His free hand settled on Kevin’s waist, gently trying to hold him at a distance. Kevin nuzzled into his cheek and kissed the corner of his mouth. </p><p>“Don’t,” he said. “Not now.”</p><p>To give his plea more weight, he reached between them, his hand shamelessly cupping Raymond’s crotch. Raymond growled, the vibrations of the sound travelling through his body into Kevin’s, who shivered in response, his knees going weak. In that topsy-turvy moment, Raymond flipped them and pressed Kevin against the wall. He rocked his hips into the palm of Kevin’s hand at the same time that he captured his lips in a kiss. </p><p>Kevin closed his eyes, bedroom momentarily forgotten. He heard the suitcase topple over, then Raymond’s hands were on him, tugging his shirt out of his pants as his tongue slipped into Kevin’s mouth to steal his breath. In retaliation, Kevin squeezed Raymond’s erection through his pants. His other hand was busy groping his husband’s magnificent behind. </p><p>Raymond was more efficient. Once the shirt was untucked, he popped open the button on Kevin’s pants and lowered the zipper without breaking their kiss. Breathless, Kevin bucked against him, at once eager for and frustrated with what little friction his erection could receive through still too many layers of fabric. He wrapped his arms around Raymond’s neck, so desperate he was almost ready to beg. </p><p>Raymond’s dark eyes were open, looking directly into his. Kevin felt feverish with lust and helpless in his husband’s arms. Raymond moved them through the next open door, which led into the study. Kevin did not care much that his pants were sliding down his hips with every step. He needed all of his coordination to unbutton Raymond’s shirt as Raymond walked him backwards without knowing where they were going.  </p><p>Neither of them had enough attention to spare for their surroundings. Kevin tripped again, this time over some bunched up fabric, which he kicked away, while Raymond tugged on his boxers. His pants were around his knees. He stepped on something that made a cracking noise as Raymond attempted to back him against a wall again for purchase. Kevin had finally undone his husband’s trousers when he stumbled and, in a flailing attempt to keep from falling, knocked a stack of books off his desk. He heard Raymond tut as he was caught and pushed firmly down onto the floor. </p><p>Kevin found himself staring up at Raymond, who was kneeling over him. He wondered what his husband saw in his no doubt ridiculous, flushed face that made his eyes turn so dark with lust. Raymond’s shirt was hanging open over his bare chest; his trousers were undone. Even after all these years, Kevin could barely look at him for fear his heart might leap out of his chest. </p><p>He moved in for another kiss and Raymond met him halfway with just as much urgency as before. One of Raymond’s hands cupped the back of Kevin’s neck, the other was rummaging around somewhere, and when Kevin opened his eyes, he realized in breathless wonder that his husband had dug a bottle of lube out of the suitcase he had so deviously dragged along. </p><p>Kevin gave him a look. One that said<em>, I cannot believe you thought you would get laid after everything you said to me on the phone.</em></p><p>Raymond returned his look and added a tiny, smug lift of his eyebrows that Kevin read as, <em>Well, I wasn’t wrong, was I?</em></p><p>Kevin had no choice but to huff an exasperated laugh and pull him down for another kiss.</p><p>***</p><p>He closed his eyes against the burn, his body going rigid despite himself. Raymond’s breath was hot on the back of his neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The creaky wooden floor chafed his skin with every push.</p><p>Still this feeling after years and years, of offering himself up and trusting blindly, being so vulnerable. But he knew Raymond now, he thought, as well as any person could know another. </p><p>And Raymond was always careful and gentle, even now in this strange haze of impatience and need, he went slow, and touched Kevin like he was precious. </p><p>“Are you alright, dear?” he always asked, though there was really no need to anymore. </p><p>“Yes,” Kevin replied despite the fact that Raymond could tell just as well without words. </p><p>He pushed back against his husband, feeling him slide in deep and perfect. Raymond’s arm wrapped around his chest; his other hand was on Kevin’s hip. </p><p>Kevin rested his cheek on his forearm to look up over his shoulder. There was always this expression of deep concentration on Raymond’s face, a sort of fascination too, as he lifted himself to stare at the point where they were connected. </p><p>And Kevin always blushed when he thought of his body so exposed. Then bit his lip when Raymond started to move in earnest and released him to brace himself on the floor. The brunt of his weight was still on Kevin though, who did not mind, who soaked in his husband’s heat. </p><p>This was pleasure. The discomfort of lying on his stomach on the floor next to a pile of books and a suitcase that looked gutted with clothes and toiletries bulging out of it like entrails only added to it. </p><p>This was what he had needed, the raw intimacy of Raymond inside him, driving out doubt and fear and anger, leaving no room for anything but immediate sensation. </p><p>Their harsh breathing accelerating almost in time with his heartbeat. Raymond leaning down to press a sloppy kiss to the nape of his neck. Kevin pinned to the floor by his husband’s weight and Raymond rocking into him in his firm and sure rhythm. He could not even really touch himself like this and suspected he wouldn’t need to, not when he could feel and hear Raymond’s pleasure so clearly and draw his own from it. </p><p>Back when they were young, back when he knew virtually nothing, Kevin had known one thing, that this intensity, this feeling of too much and not enough, of coming apart and being held together, that this was love and that he could let go of everything else but this.</p><p>***</p><p>When Raymond came, he buried his face in Kevin’s shoulder, wrapping one arm around Kevin and all but collapsing on top of him. The air was driven from Kevin’s lungs. He managed a soft “Ooof” and almost blacked out.</p><p>Raymond rolled off him immediately, his hands coming up to cup Kevin’s face. He looked so worried and appalled at himself that Kevin smiled and kissed him. </p><p>“I’m fine,” he said, turning over onto his back, “but…” and he quirked an eyebrow and glanced down at his erection.</p><p>“Of course,” Raymond replied as though Kevin had actually voiced his request. He proceeded to kiss down Kevin’s chest, his clever hands following the path his mouth was taking and Kevin lay back and let him do as he pleased.</p><p>And what a miracle, that this should please Raymond as much as it pleased Kevin.</p><p>***</p><p>On the floor, after Kevin had gasped and shuddered through the haze of pleasure and his fingers were merely idly stroking Raymond’s head instead of clutching at it, Kevin looked around. </p><p>Sunlight was slanting in through the window, illuminating the path of destruction they had carved through the apartment. Next to the pile of fabric that was Raymond’s coat, dragged all the way to the door of the study, lay the object Kevin had stepped on.</p><p>Raymond’s phone, its screen badly cracked.</p><p>He turned his head to look at his husband who had pulled away to settle next to him, on his side, propping himself up on one elbow. </p><p>Raymond had pulled up his trousers, but his shirt was still open and, Kevin noticed, somewhat disturbingly, he was wearing one shoe. Clearly, they had both taken leave of their senses. </p><p>They needed to get up off the floor and pick up the pieces.</p><p>Raymond reached over, slow and deliberate, holding Kevin’s gaze, he cupped Kevin’s cheek and brushed his thumb lovingly along his lips. Kevin looked into his husband’s eyes and knew.</p><p>They would.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Monty Hell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>After the bone incident, Raymond withdrew into his office. Still fuming, he finished his paperwork, and, with nothing else left to do, decided to leave early for once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did not spare Diaz and Santiago a glance on his way out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he arrived at the house, it was as black as the night - or more accurately very early morning - around it. Inside, it was almost as cold as well. Shivering even before he had shrugged out of his coat, Raymond flipped a lightswitch. Silence prevailed, no barking from Cheddar, who merely raised his head briefly when Raymond walked past, his simple canine brain already having registered this, his owner’s arrival at odd hours, as a new normal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good Morning, Cheddar,” Raymond said, “and Good Night.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dog’s ears pricked, then relaxed again and he curled back up into his preferred sleeping position, forming a tight ball of fluff, perfect, Raymond had to admit, in its appeal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond walked towards the stairs, pausing at the foot, his gaze hooked by an unfamiliar object on the couch table. A yellow and black monstrosity of a book. He approached it, lip curling in distaste at the cartoon abomination on the offensive cover, at the title: Statistics for Dummies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Here was Kevin’s retaliation for the voicemail then. Well played. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You just need to--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>No, even in the privacy of his own mind, it did not bear repeating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if things were that simple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ramond’s leg was heavy on the stairs, stiff. Pain had receded into discomfort, but the cold seemed to affect the injury. He walked slowly, like an old man, into the dressing room first, to shed his uniform and put on his pajamas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This too took longer than it used to, than it should have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night shift had taught Raymond: exhaustion did not anesthetize, it paralyzed. It had transformed him into an insomniac, sleep-walking through his waking hours, only to lie awake in bed during the day, restless and irritable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He found the bedroom pitch-black, the way he preferred it - according to several scientific articles he had read, sleeping with a light source in the room had a number of negative effects on one’s health, hence he did not do it. In the darkness, he could hear Kevin breathe. For a second, he contemplated sleeping in the guest room - surely his husband would prefer not to wake up next to a ‘dummy’ - but then he felt cold with his bare feet on the floor - he had been unable to locate his slippers in the dressing room and unwilling to go back downstairs to find them - and padded over to the bed and its occupant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he climbed in, Kevin stirred. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ray?” he mumbled, still very much asleep, Raymond guessed from the sound of his voice. Kevin was able to carry an entire conversation without waking up. Sometimes, he talked in his sleep unprompted, murmuring Greek or Latin phrases, sometimes other languages Raymond could not even place. Benim ilk göz ağrım, he had breathed one night, clutching at Raymond’s arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Go back to sleep, Kevin.” He sounded annoyed. He was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was movement in the dark. His mattress dipped. Kevin was migrating closer, as he often did on cold nights. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simultaneously, a hand and a foot snuck over, the hand slipping under his pajama top while toes prodded experimentally at Raymond’s ankle. Kevin’s skin was wonderfully warm; Raymond’s was not. Kevin flinched away, making an offended noise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re cold,” he said, voice thick with sleep but still accusatory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond rolled his eyes at the ceiling. By his estimation, Kevin was at most 14% aware of what he was doing. This conversation was therefore pointless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nonetheless, he replied, “Yes, it is quite cold outside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He expected Kevin to withdraw, as Kevin had clearly been trying to leech warmth off Raymond, his habit on cold nights, which sometimes irritated Raymond and other times led to them generating heat together. Not tonight, though, certainly not tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin grumbled something incomprehensible, then scooted closer again until he was pressed warm against Raymond’s side. His hand returned as well, his palm settling on Raymond’s stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have to warm you up,” Kevin mumbled into Raymond’s shoulder. “I missed you so…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would not remember this once he woke up and he had clearly forgotten all about the book he had so carefully placed where Raymond was bound to find it, his clever act of retribution. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the past couple of days they had needled each other so much, they might qualify as professional seamstresses by now, Raymond thought, though he was warmed, now that Kevin’s sleep-addled brain had randomly generated this moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you. Don’t go away again.” Barely audible, muffled by Raymond’s shoulder, but reaching into him, chasing the cold away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not randomly generated, Raymond corrected as he turned to his husband and brushed his lips across Kevin’s forehead. Not randomly generated at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t. I love you as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond woke rested, his limbs warm and heavy. The room was still dark, but his husband was no longer next to him. He looked over at the alarm clock and confirmed that it was past noon, three minutes to 1 p.m., to be precise. He sat up in bed and stretched, testing the limits of his leg. Pins and needles but no hot pokers. Reassured by this satisfying development, Raymond folded back the covers and set his feet on the ground. Or not. Actually, his feet connected with something soft and familiar, fabric and firm soles. His slippers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond had a very distinct memory of his cold feet when he had gone to sleep hours before. He was sure he had been barefoot, that he had forgotten his slippers downstairs. This meant that Kevin had retrieved them for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was such a small gesture, yet it touched Raymond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He put them on and walked over to the window to draw the blinds and check the weather. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside, the sky was a deceptive blue. Thermometer and barometer told Raymond that temperatures were still low and so was air pressure. Bad weather was heading their way. This was exciting news; he could not wait to tell Kevin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then he remembered the book and his excitement waned. Perhaps his husband would prefer to get his weather forecast from a more credible source than the resident dummy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought stung. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond glanced down and, to his surprise, noticed Kevin in the driveway. That bald spot, he would have recognized it anywhere, could have picked out his husband from an aerial image of a hundred balding men. Not that he would ever tell Kevin this, as he was sensitive about his hair loss, prone to the odd self-deprecating remark on the topic but unforgiving should anyone else have the audacity to comment on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin was standing there with a bag of groceries in his arms, looking off to the right, waiting, it seemed for something or someone. Indeed, a second later, Karate came into view, dragging their neighbor Maureen along behind her. Karate’s tail was wagging furiously, the way it always was whenever she saw Kevin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond watched Kevin shift his groceries so he could lean down and pet Karate. Without a doubt, the Rottweiler would slobber all over his coat and trousers, but Kevin did not mind. In fact, he pulled a treat from one of his pockets and fed it to the dog. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Kevin had a soft spot for Karate, especially after the incident with Cheddar, Raymond had always considered her a bit of a basic bitch. When Kevin was not there, she would bark at Raymond and flash her teeth. He suspected she was racist, the evidence was certainly there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin seemed to exchange a few words with Maureen, then went up the driveway to the house, which Raymond took as his cue to move as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Saturday, he realized, and for once he had time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin, for his part, would adhere to his rigorous weekend schedule. Having completed his errants: walking and feeding Cheddar, picking up the dry-cleaning and grocery shopping, Kevin would now prepare and eat a light lunch, then do a bit of housework before withdrawing into the study for some research and/or writing. Depending on the season and the weather, he might do some work in the garden, before taking Cheddar on his evening walk and feeding him his dinner, after which it would be time to prepare their own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On a normal Saturday, before the night shift, that was, they might have made plans together, a concert, the opera, a get-together with friends, a lecture perhaps, or simply eating out at a restaurant, but now, well, between Paris, Florida and his shift change, these seemed like things of a distant past. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today, however, at least for the six hours until Raymond had to get ready for work, they would be together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond was not sure how he felt about that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Raymond walked down the stairs in his pajamas, robe and slippers, he saw no sign of the book. It was no longer where Kevin had left it the previous night. It was nowhere in the living-room, nor the kitchen. Kevin was there, however, his back to Raymond, humming. Flummoxed, Raymond stopped in the doorway. There was his husband, dressed in the same burgundy sweater and striped shirt he had worn when they had clashed in front of the fireplace. Only now, he had an apron on, the old white and blue checkered one that looked like a tablecloth. And he seemed to be... dancing?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond felt his eyebrows climb to his hairline. Kevin was moving through the kitchen, light on his feet, darting back and forth between his bag of groceries on the counter and the cabinets. He picked up a can of beans with one hand, with the other, he tossed a little piece of sausage to Cheddar the dog, who was hopping around between his feet, clearly infected by Kevin’s exuberance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was this their life without him, Raymond wondered, was he the ball and chain that kept his husband from dancing through the kitchen?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered that night in a Florida hospital when he had called Kevin to tell him that he was coming home. How he had hesitated, his heart suddenly pounding, his dry tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. It had been so long, and he had missed Kevin so much. His life without his husband had been like an essay missing a main argument as well as a conclusion. It was simply pointless rambling, a sequence of trivial, unconnected anecdotes, it was, he thought, it was Margo talking about her most recent vacation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had called Kevin that night and Kevin had picked up after two rings and before Raymond could say anything Kevin had asked breathlessly, “Raymond? Is this really you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin had sounded afraid. His second question after Raymond had confirmed was, “Are you safe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had agreed that Kevin would come pick him up from JFK, but when Raymond had seen Kevin standing there, when his face had appeared among the constant stream of stressed travelers at the airport, it had still been a shock. He had looked so worried, then there had been the injury, which had upset him further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Consequently, their first few hours together had been tense. Kevin had fussed with his crutches, fussed over the leg, fussed with preparing him a meal. In short, there had been an excessive amount of fussing, which had ended in Kevin gasping with the sudden realisation that he was supposed to leave for a conference in Los Angeles the next day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I can cancel. I will cancel! I simply-- For the longest time, I did not dare to make any plans because I did not know when you would return - I thought it might be any day - but then all this time passed and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, dear, it’s alright. There is no need to apologize--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t go. I can’t. It would be ludicrous after all this time we spent apart. I will cancel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You made a commitment. This would be very short notice. It might damage your reputation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry? You actually want me to go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond had misread the situation. He had thought Kevin wanted to go and was seeking permission, but when he had seen his husband’s face, he had realized that he had been very, very wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day, Kevin had been busy preparing for his four-day trip, and they’d both been surprised when the doorbell had rung.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, it’s Martin! I forgot I asked him to take Cheddar during my absence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Raymond had said, suddenly confronted with the prospect of not even having his dog for company.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I suppose, he might as well. You won’t be able to walk him in your condition and the children are looking forward to spending time with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Raymond had repeated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been taken somewhat aback by his brother-in-law’s greeting, Martin’s wide eyes and flushing face, his overjoyed exclamation, “Ray, you’re back!” and the tight embrace that had followed. “What happened to your leg?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Kevin had been distracted with collecting Cheddar’s things, Martin had sat next to him on the couch and said, softly, so Kevin would not overhear, “I’m so glad you’re giving him another chance. I know he can be a real bastard, but, for what it’s worth, he was miserable without you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Raymond had had time to inquire what had prompted this comment, Kevin had finished, all but thrust Cheddar’s leash and bag at his brother, then immediately shown him the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had finally asked Kevin about Martin’s strange remark and received the following, baffling, reply, “I was strongly advised to tell the people closest to us that we had separated. For my own safety. I knew Martin would not believe me if I told him you had left for no discernable reason, so I lied and told him I had had an affair in France.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond had been unable to muster a response to that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lips moving as he hummed and sang under his breath, Kevin danced across the granite floor, conducting an imaginary orchestra in wide, sweeping gestures. It was quite the sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Largo al factotum? Raymond thought, not sure whether to be amused or scandalized by the choice. Why, that was practically pop music. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mid-spin, his apron flying like a skirt, Kevin plucked a piece of cheese from a tray on the counter and tossed it to Cheddar, who snatched it out of the air. Two hundred degrees into the rotation, however, Kevin finally caught sight of Raymond. His eyes widened; he tried to stop, but momentum made him trip over his own feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without thinking, Raymond swept in and caught him, one arm slipping around Kevin’s waist, the other gripping his bicep. A jolt of pain shot up his leg, but it was bearable. And certainly worth it when he ended up with a breathless, blushing Kevin in his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Raymond! I thought you were sleeping…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am awake,” Raymond informed his husband.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I can see that.” Kevin pulled the earbuds from his ears, then dug his phone out of his pocket to stop the thin and distant rendition of the aria floating up to them from the small speakers. Once this had been accomplished, he noticed that Raymond was still holding on to him and raised an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you by any chance here to teach me my lesson on kindergarten statistics?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, there it was, <em>that</em> tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Raymond replied. “However, I did see an interesting book on the subject last night…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin jut out his chin. “No, you did not. You must have been dreaming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah.” Finally, Raymond let go and took a step backwards. “I see.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like a bird whose feathers had been ruffled, Kevin instantly began to straighten himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cheddar, a moment of privacy, please,” Raymond said to the dog, who was staring up at them, hoping the joy would return and with it the possibility of acquiring unearned treats. Cheddar barked once to signal he had understood and retreated to the living-room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin gazed after him with a certain amount of longing. They both knew that the conversation had taken a turn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond had to ask. He had to put into words what he could barely endure to think. Even if it meant his worst fears would be confirmed, he had seen the evidence now, he could not ignore it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kevin,” he said, struggling to hold his husband’s gaze for fear of what he would see in Kevin’s eyes, “would you like me to leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Kevin’s fingers were flexing at his sides, the way they always did when he was at a complete loss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond swallowed against the tightness in his throat. When he managed to speak, he did so quickly, pushing the words out before they could choke him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whenever I am around you, you seem angry and bitter, yet today, when you thought yourself alone, you were literally dancing with joy. The logical conclusion would be--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was interrupted by a pained groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My God, you really are unbelievable.” Shaking his head in disbelief, Kevin dragged a hand across his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you truly not think of the reason why I might be in a better mood today than I have been at any point during the last - oh - six months?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin did not wait for a reply. He pinned Raymond with his glare, his eyes narrowing as his tone sharpened. “It’s because for the first time in what is starting to feel like an eternity, I woke up in your arms today, Raymond.” He sighed, his face softening.  “And that is all I wanted.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Raymond mumbled, feeling chastised and, yes, truly like an idiot as he watched his husband shake his head again and clench his fists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were in Florida for half a year and then when you came back, you could not wait to send me off to some pointless conference across the country and by the time I returned, I learned that you had already gone back to work - despite your injury!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Peralta was shot and he--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is half your age,” Kevin snapped. “And now you are on the night shift and we never see each other.” He pressed his lips together, the color rising to his cheeks betraying how upset he was. “I miss you.” The words took Raymond’s breath away. Though he had heard them the night before, they seemed to carry even more weight now. Kevin did not notice how touched he was. He had averted his eyes, was dragging his gaze across the floor. “I miss you so much, I--” He interrupted himself and swallowed. Raymond watched his throat work, aching to reach out, to cup Kevin’s cheek, tip his head up. But Kevin did not need his help, he raised his eyes, the determination in them telling Raymond that he had come to some kind of conclusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you not want me anymore?” Kevin asked, voice soft but firm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond was certain his reaction must match the expression of surprise seen on the preposterous cartoon creatures Peralta loved to watch. Jaw dropping open, eyes bulging from their sockets. <em>Do you not want me anymore?</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought back to unbearably humid nights in Florida spent in front of the cheap laptop he had purchased on his first day there, an unreliable machine prone to making sudden loud whirring noises. Each night he would scour the internet for news regarding Professor Kevin Cozner, would check the website of Columbia’s classics department, then the website of Kevin’s publisher, then, finally, youtube where he knew to find the recording of a lecture his husband had given at a conference at Wesleyan University in 2014. After having downloaded all available portable document files of Kevin’s academic writing to reread whenever he was feeling lonely, whenever he longed for Kevin, which was all the time, Raymond would watch this lecture, guiltily, because he knew he could not get to the end without his hand snaking under the waistband of his pants. Night after night he brought himself to shameful climax to the sound of Kevin’s voice. Sometimes he, Raymond Holt, not prone to fantasies of any kind, would even fantasize about staunchly heterosexual widower Greg Stickney happening upon the lecture and falling for the dashing professor. Here he was, poor, hapless, did he say hereosexual, well, it went without saying, but also it bore repeating, very heterosexual Greg, curious about ancient Greek society and literature, topics that had merely been touched on during his own, frankly pathetic, studies, innocently clicking on a link to a lecture on ancient Greek tax receipts. And then Professor Cozner appeared on his screen. He was wearing a brown tweed suit with matching bow tie and a white dress shirt. He put his papers on the lectern in front of him and cleared his throat, his piercing blue eyes looking directly into the camera. As soon as he began to speak, Greg was lost, his whole world shaken, heavy breasts and thigh gaps forgotten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was just as well, Raymond had thought, that the university had disabled commenting on the video as the temptation to leave lewd messages was almost irresistible. <em>Dear Professor Cozner, I would love to discuss the myth of Ganymede with you. In great detail. Sincerely, Greg Stickney.</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin was looking at him, his face now schooled into an expression of cool detachment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond could not tell Kevin about his crude behavior in Florida; it was too embarrassing.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps,” he said instead, lowering his voice suggestively, “we should continue this discussion upstairs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps,” he echoed.“Why don’t you go on ahead, Raymond. I’ll just finish here. Some of these items require refrigeration.” With that, he turned back to the groceries, the corner of his mouth quirking into the tiniest smile as he did so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the bedroom, there was very little discussion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond cupped one hand around Kevin’s throat to feel the vibrations of his breathing, the thrum of his pulse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, he could never really remember what this felt like, after. He thought he could, would try to recall these moments when he was away from Kevin, would attempt to replay them, second by second and though he might have enough to achieve whatever he wished to achieve, it never came close to this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This excess of emotion and sensation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond was a man of moderation in every aspect of his life but this. Here, in bed with his husband, it was all indulgence, anything else would have been blasphemy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How, after decades, could this still feel like a conquest every time? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slipped his other hand between Kevin’s thighs, lifting one of them to make it easier. The bedsheets rustled as he adjusted their position, heavy blankets sliding across his bare skin. Kevin liked it warm. For sex he preferred to be in bed, nestled as close as possible, Raymond’s arms around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then there had been Paris and Kevin’s knees scraped pink for almost the entire week. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin turned his head to him for a kiss that Raymond was more than happy to give him. He pulled Kevin closer, pushing deep inside and pressed his mouth to Kevin’s at the same time, catching the butterfly wing tremor of his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin smiled against his mouth, then Raymond felt the contours of that smile blurring with their movements, with Kevin pushing back against him, his fingers digging into the back of Raymond’s thigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through his eyelashes, Raymond caught a glimpse of Kevin’s irises, pale hazy blue. He withdrew, to nip at his husband’s shoulder, to kiss the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drew his hand down Kevin’s throat, down his chest - Kevin arched into his touch like strings would arch toward the bow, if they knew what music was, if they were they not inanimate objects --</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sex made Raymond think in abstracts, images. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond, a man of numbers and measures, had neither one nor the other when it came to what he felt for Kevin, with Kevin. He wrapped his hand around Kevin’s erection, feeling it pulse, hot and insistent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Kevin was inside him, Raymond felt desired, cherished. He did not know how it was for Kevin, only that when Kevin wanted him like that, he would woo him for days. He would do irrational things like bring him roses from the garden, pull out his chair for him at dinner, buy him presents though they shared a bank account.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last time it was a regal blue silk tie, which he tied for Raymond, in the dressing room, both of them watching the precise movements of Kevin’s hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It did not happen frequently and truth be told, Raymond preferred this. He liked to feel in control. Though he knew the feeling to be an illusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even like this, Kevin’s back tucked against his chest, Raymond as deep inside of him as he could go, Raymond knew he was only ever scratching the surface. The wealth of knowledge, the complexity of Kevin’s thoughts, these remained out of reach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” Kevin breathed, half-twisting in Raymond’s arms to look at him with his pale, inscrutable eyes. “I love you, Ray…” His voice thinner, as though carried from a great distance by the wind, “I...ah…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond buried his smile in the crook of Kevin’s neck. He needed these moments, when language devolved into sound, when all of Kevin’s body responded to him, more clearly than words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After, Kevin did not dart out of bed to clean up like he usually did. Instead, he rolled over in Raymond’s embrace - not without grimacing at the mess they’d made - and kissed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They traded tender kisses for a few moments, then Raymond said, lips hovering millimeters from Kevin’s, “I think we should do this four times a week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm… and how did you arrive at this conclusion?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm certain it would benefit our relationship.” Diaz was not getting any credit for her crude suggestion, though he had to admit-- well, no, he did not have to do anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kevin raised an eyebrow. “Not an answer to my question. I was curious about how you arrived at the specific number.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond considered this, then shook his head. “I no longer want to discuss math with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah.” Kevin smirked. “I can see why you wouldn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Raymond pressed close to try and kiss the smug look off his husband’s face. “Do you object?” he asked between failed attempts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I think four is a good number,” Kevin replied, pensive, “though, I suppose, some cultures would disagree.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Five then,” Raymond amended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Five,” Kevin repeated, smirk softening into a smile. He closed his eyes and snuggled in close, tucking his head under Raymond’s chin. “How is your leg?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Much better,” Raymond said. He ran a hand through Kevin’s hair and breathed in his smell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It truly was much better.</span>
</p>
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